The killer lives inside me: yes, I can feel him move. Sometimes he's lightly sleeping in the quiet of his room, but then his eyes will rise and stare
Day dawns dark, it now numbers infinity. Life crawls from the past, watching in wonder I trace its patterns in me. Tomorrow's tomorrow is birth again
vSlow motion in the quiet of the room; so potent is the smell of her perfume that you think she's eternal, that you think she is everything... but no
in some measure at least the soul which roots the matter of both Beauty and the Beast. From what tooth or claw does murder spring, from what flesh and
wastrel's dance: it has slow as well as fast movement, and any change must be an improvement on simply fossilising, standing still. I got a steady vocation for the Quiet Zone